


Through the Wasteland

by KHansen



Category: Achievement Hunter, Fallout - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Rape, F/F, F/M, Fallout AU, M/M, OC is not mine, WIP, slowburn, this is for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen
Summary: Alison Smith is the sole survivor of Fallout Shelter 111. Determined to find her kidnapped son, she makes her way through the dangerous Wasteland with a mysterious companion who goes by the name Haywood.





	Through the Wasteland

The faint strains of music reach her ears as she trudges across the Wasteland, letting her know she's about to come across life of some sort. The music grows louder as she walks and she's soon in a small town, the buildings patched up and the roads cleared of everything but the destroyed cars. The music is coming from the open door of a bar, the cool breeze blowing through the hot building. She goes in, desperate for something to drink, and a bite to eat wouldn't hurt either. The bar is small and quaint, the wooden floors aged and the walls covered in peeling posters and a few decorations. A single ceiling fan whirls lazily overhead and music pipes from the old jukebox in the corner. At the bar itself is a pair of men, one tall and thin the other a few inches shorter and stockier, arguing over something, the blue-haired bartender ignoring them while she wipes a clean glass. Another man is at a small table, a cowboy hat tilted forward on his head to conceal his face while he leans back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, and his leather duster unbuttoned due to the sweltering heat. Another woman, this one a redhead, is walking around sweeping and a fourth man with black hair and a mustache is sitting on a couch and reading a book.

“One Nuka Cola please, and do you have anything to eat?” She asks, approaching the bar. The blue-haired woman looks at her.

“We have some boxes of sugar bombs and squirrel bits, either of those sound good to you?”

“The squirrel would be great,” she smiles and sits down at the bar, curiously looking at the arguing men.

“Alright, twenty caps,” the bartender walks over, “And what on earth are you wearing?”

She looks down at her blue jumpsuit with the yellow lining, “Oh um, I found it. Haven't found anything better yet.” She's learned it's safer to lie about the origins of her vault suit, “And here’s twenty.” She pulls the caps out of the leather bag tied to her belt, handing them over. The bartender smiles.

“Thank you. I'm glad you're not giving me any trouble. The name’s Meg,” Meg puts the caps in a box and goes to get the Nuka Cola out of a fridge, “What’s yours?”

“Alison.”

“Where you headed Alison? We don't get outsiders here very often.”

“I’m trying to find my son,” Alison says, a pained expression flitting across her face, “He was taken.”

“That's awful, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she frowns and sets down the cold bottle of cola and plastic basket of cooked meat in front of Alison.

“Thank you,” Alison says, “It's just been difficult. I'm not familiar with this area or the people in it but I don't have anyone who is familiar with it to travel with me.”

“Makes sense,” Meg nods, “I would offer you Gavin or Michael but they're just as likely to get lost as they are to help you.”

“It's true,” the taller man takes a quick break from arguing and he has a strange accent, “I’m shit with directions.”

“I might be able to help but I don't want to,” the other man says and then they go back to arguing.

Meg rolls her eyes, “As you can see they're completely useless.”

Another man walks into the bar and Meg glances at him briefly.

“Rum and cola,” he barks at Meg before sitting down directly next to Alison. He has filthy blond hair and his face is stained with what she can only assume is either blood or very very dark red paint. Meg gives him a level look.

“Ten caps,” Meg crosses her arms.

“Fine,” the man says, pulling the caps out and handing them to her. As she makes his drink he turns to Alison, “So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a dive bar like this?”

“Oh um,” she turns pink, “I’m just… looking for something. And this was on my way.”

“I could take you somewhere much nicer,” he leans forward and grins, his breath a foul stench, “We could get liquored up and then have a little fun.”

“No thank you,” she shakes her head, “I appreciate the offer but I'd rather not.”

“Oh come on girlie, a little bit of excitement never hurt nobody,” he leers at her, looking her over like she's a piece of meat, “And you're cut from some real fancy cloth.”

“She said no Brutus,” Meg says firmly, setting down his drink, “When are you gonna learn that no means no?”

“When it actually does,” he sneers, “Cuz I always get my way. And my way is long, hard, and rough, so I hope you're flexible.” He downs his drink before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and gives her a lewd look again before leaving the bar. Alison is shaken up and more than a little frightened. She's run into some people who wanted to harm her but not like this.

“Don't pay him any mind sweetie,” Meg takes the glass and puts it in a sink, “He's probably decided you're too much work and moved on to another bar.”

“If you say so,” Alison isn't convinced and decides to hang out at Meg’s place for several hours before finally getting up and leaving, determined to press on and find her son. The sun is low in the sky, buildings in the rickety town casting long shadows on the ground and her footsteps crunching over the dusty street are the only sound, the silence pressing against her on all sides.

She turns a corner to walk down a side street and large hands grab her, the grotesque, ugly face of Brutus filling her vision.

“Hey girlie,” he grins, “I just knew if I was patient enough I'd get my way.”   
Her eyes widen and she squirms in his grip, opening her mouth to scream for help. He stops her cry by shoving a filthy bandana in her mouth and pins her to the ground, one dirty hand groping her through the vault suit.

“Ooh girlie you are warm down there. Are you getting excited by this?” He smiles wide. She shakes her head, tears dripping down her face as she tries to tell him not to touch her. He grabs the zipper of the vault suit and pulls it down so forcefully he tears the end of it off the suit and he shoves his hand into it, rubbing her panties which are damp with sweat. “You are excited. Ol’ Brutus is gonna show you a real good time. Or at least it'll be good for me.” He grabs the bottom of the suit and pulls at it, tearing it open. She's sobbing now, no one can hear her muffled cries for help.

Brutus suddenly stiffens, his face stretching into one of surprise before he slumps over on top of her, a pearl knife handle sticking out of his back. The hat-wearing stranger from the bar walks over and pulls the knife out, cleaning it on Brutus’s shirt before pushing the man off of her. She quickly gets to her feet, yanking the bandana out of her mouth and then trying to cover herself. The stranger is searching Brutus’s pockets, shoving things that they want into their pockets and finally straightening up and taking off their duster, tossing it to her.

Beneath the duster the man is wearing simple jeans and a tight t-shirt, the black fabric leaving nothing about his lean and muscled torso to the imagination. He keeps his hat tilted forward so his face is concealed and beckons for her to follow him. She quickly puts the duster on, holding it closed, and follows him. He leads her through town, walking hastily, and eventually they get to what looks like little more than a shack. He opens the door and allows her entry before closing and locking it.

“There's women’s clothes in that trunk there,” he points to a wooden trunk as he goes to a locked metal box. His voice is deep and a little rough.

“Why do you have women’s clothes?” She asks warily, opening the trunk and looking at the dresses and shirts.

“I have sisters.”

“Oh… fair enough.” The shack is silent as he goes through the metal box and she rummages through the clothing, finding a canvas jacket and jeans that might fit her as well as a set of suspenders and a white t-shirt. “Do you have anywhere I can change?”

“Anywhere is fine. I'll keep my back turned.”

“Oh, okay. That's fine,” she's uncomfortable but turns her back to him as well, quickly changing. “I’m Alison by the way.”

“Haywood,” he introduces himself. “I hear you're in need of someone to show you around the Wasteland.”

She nods, “A traveling partner who knows the land would be wonderful.”

“What's in it for me?” He sits down on an old couch and turns the radio on, the same music from the jukebox playing from the small radio.

“For you?”

“Yeah, what do I get out of escorting you?” He crosses his arms and props his feet up on the table.

“Um, I don't know. What do you want?”

“Eh, wrong,” he makes a sound like a buzzer, “Never ask what someone else wants. Make them an offer and then they'll tell you what they want instead.”

“Oh okay, um, I've made some caps off of odd jobs that I've done wandering around. You could get half of them.” She bites her lip and buttons up the jacket, tossing the duster at him.

He catches it in one hand, “eighty percent.”

“Sixty.”

“Done.” He stands up and pulls the duster back on before holding his hand out to her, “I look forward to working with you, dear.”

“You too, Haywood,” she shakes his hand and tries to peek under the brim of his hat to see what he looks like but he lets go of her hand and steps back.

“First rule, don't try and look under my hat. We may work together but I trust you about as far as I can throw a Deathclaw, which is not at all.” He crosses his arms.

“Wait why are you making rules? I'm the one letting you come along with me.” She crosses her arms as well.

“Because I'm the one who has any idea of how to talk to the locals and get from point A to point B on a path of least resistance,” he points out, “Rule number two, don't question the rules.”

She's not sure if she likes him, he's kind of an ass and just made himself her partner. She didn't ask him to be but now he is and he's going to be taking a huge cut of her meager profits!

“This is a test isn't it?” She asks suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is a test. Everyone I've met in the Wasteland has taken charge of the relationship and dynamic immediately. You're trying to get me to resist you and take charge… right?” He didn't interrupt her which makes her nervous.

“Why on god's green earth would I ever try to make you take leadership?” He deadpans after a few moments of silence and her heart sinks. “You have no idea what you're doing, I don't even know where you came from, and you are completely clueless on the lay of the land. I'm in charge, that's final.” She feels a bit stupid now. It's true, she doesn't know those things. And yet…

“No. I'm in charge. I've made it this far. You're my traveling companion, not the other way around. Yes, you'll be compensated, but don't think that you're in charge of this operation. Because you're not. Got it?” She speaks firmly to enforce her confident leadership. He faces her with his arms crossed before shrugging.

“Alright, boss. What's the first order of business?”

“We’re gonna get back my son.”

“Who’s Myson? Sounds like a dumb name.”

“No I… my son. He was kidnapped.”

“Well that makes more sense. Do you know where he is?”

“...no.”

“Okay, then our first order of business is…” he waits for her.

“Finding him!”

“Hooray,” he claps his hands sarcastically, “You did it.”

“You're kind of a dick.”

“What else is new?”

She sighs, it's going to be a long journey.


End file.
